Causa Mortis
by fluttermoth
Summary: Lumen has no interest in living a life she didn't choose for herself, and she certainly didn't ask to be dovahkiin. So rather than help Delphine find out why the dragons are returning, she decides to chase a rumor about a small boy who's trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood. During her journey to Windhelm, she meets a strange jester on the road...
1. A Chance Encounter

**Chapter 1: A Chance Encounter**

* * *

Lumen _hates_ Skyrim.

She hates the weather. The winds are always icy and sting at her formerly sun-kissed skin. If it isn't snowing, it's raining; and if it isn't raining, it's overcast. Occasionally Lumen will see a day with clear skies and sunshine, but there is always a chill on the wind; promising a cold, bitter night.

Dragons. Oh, she hates the dragons too. Lumen cannot swing a dead skeever without hitting a dragon and her life has been turned upside down ever since she killed one and absorbed its soul. Now she is Dovahkiin, a legendary hero, a legendary dragon slayer–

It's a legendary pain in the ass.

Although, Lumen certainly does not hate the power of the Thu'um, it has proven to be a useful and amusing weapon. No, the problem is Delphine, the last of the Blades and her rampant paranoida. Not that Lumen has anything against paranoia; being paranoid has kept her alive. But Delphine turned it into an _art_.

Delphine is currently in Riverwood, waiting for Lumen to arrive so they can discuss some half-cocked plan to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy. But Lumen has absolutely no desire to tangle with the Thalmor, they are as much a danger to her as they are to Delphine and she is not about to throw herself head-first into danger without a damn good reason. And assuaging Delphine's fears is _not_ a good reason at all. Delphine can find someone else to do her dirty work. To the Void with Delphine and to the Void with the Thalmor.

To the Void with Skyrim.

* * *

A black horse ambles down a winding, dirt road, its Bosmer owner walking along beside it, her hands lightly gripping the reigns. Lumen's chestnut hair stirs in the cool winds of The Pale, and despite the chill on the breeze it is an unusually warm day. Pleasure coils through her as the sun warms her caramel-colored flesh, and if she closes her eyes she just might feel like she is home again.

There is no reason to indulge in idle fantasy, but Lumen cannot help herself. Her eyes close and she slides her hand from the reigns of her horse to press against its side for balance. The air smells of mountain flowers and wheat. And _there_, a hint of lavender on the breeze–

And she is _home_.

In her mind she can see it all so clearly – fields of rich, green grass, brimming with an assortment of wildflowers and so full of life. Buzzing with insects and all manner of small game. Beyond the fields a lush forest with trees that grow tall and thick, sunlight streaming through the canopy and dappling the forest floor with flecks of gold. And if she concentrates she can still hear the crunch of leaves underneath her soft, booted feet–

"Augh! Bother and befuddle, stuck here! _Stuck!_ My mother, my _poor_ mother. Unmoving. At rest. But _too still_!"

Lumen stumbles to a stop, momentarily stunned by the shrill voice that pulls her from her reverie. Her horse whinnies softly at the sudden tug of the reigns. Her gaze falls upon a short, imperial man dressed in a black and red jester motley. She has not seen a jester since she lived in Cyrodiil and she wonders what a jester would be doing in Skyrim. The Nords did not seem like the type of people who would laugh at a jester's antics.

Lumen is quite taken by the jester, however, and who wouldn't be? He is ranting and raving like a lunatic as he storms around a wagon with a large crate strapped to it. It is an _interesting_ sight to say the least.

As usual, her curiosity gets the better of her and she slowly approaches the jester. "Is there a problem?"

"Poor Cicero is stuck. Can't you see? I was transporting my dear, _sweet_ mother. Well– not _her_. Her corpse! She's quite dead– Been dead for a _while_, actually." He cackles, the sound lashing through the air like a whip. "I'm taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. A new sanctuary. But–" Cicero's eyes are drawn back to the broken wheel lying on the ground near the wagon. "Aggh! Wagon wheel! _Damn_ wagon wheel! It broke! It just _fell_ right off the wagon!"

"I see… Is there anything I can do to help?" Lumen did not feel any genuine pity for the jester's predicament. But if money were to exchange hands, she would gladly help him.

"Oh." He seems surprised at her offer of help. "Oh _yes_! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to that farm– Just over there, off the road. Talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me! But he won't! He refuses! Convince him to fix my wheel and Cicero will _reward_ you. With coin! _Gleamy_, shiny coin!"

Now _those_ were the magic words, "How much coin are we talking about?"

"Would two hundred gold be enough to convince _you_ to help poor Cicero?" He rocks back-and-forth on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back. Cicero almost looks innocent aside from the sly grin upon his small, bow-shaped lips.

"As a matter of fact, it would."

"Cicero will gladly pay the kindly stranger, but only _after_ Loreius has fixed my wheel."

_Clever bastard_.

Lumen frowns as she realizes helping the jester is going to take more time than she originally anticipated. Still– it's two hundred gold, and for what? Talking a famer into helping Cicero. How hard can that possibly be?

"All right I–" her words vanish and her mouth hangs slightly agape at the bizarre sight before her. Within moments of Lumens consent to help him, Cicero turns from her and practically bounces toward the broken wagon. Speaking to the crate strapped upon it in soft, soothing tones and caressing gently as if it were the most valuable thing in the world.

"Did you hear that, Mother? The kindly stranger is going to convince Loreius to help us, I just _know_ it! We'll be on our way soon and you'll finally have a new home and a new family."

"_Right_. I'll, uh, just go talk to the farmer now." Lumen murmurs as she starts up the small hill towards the farm. She was no stranger to oddities and she indulged in some rather strange hobbies of her own, but she did not speak to dead bodies with such… _reverence._ Not like Cicero did. Perhaps the man was Void-touched or on skooma? He was very _strange_.

Not that Lumen was normal; she does not indulge in cannibalism as some Bosmer were known to do, but she _does_ enjoy the thrill of hunting both mer and man. While Lumen is content to slay anyone who threatens her life or stands in her way, she _savors_ killing Altmer.

Oh, she does not _hate_ Altmer. Her need to kill them is stronger than hatred – it is an addiction. A need to relive a specific moment in time, a moment where she felt more powerful than she ever had before. A moment that granted her a feeling more intense than anything she had ever known. Killing a dragon and absorbing its soul didn't come close to the high that killing an Altmer gave her.

So as Lumen's gaze falls upon _he_r – Curwe, the famer's lovely, Altmer wife – it feels as if all the air has been stolen from her lungs. She balls her hands into fists, fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms as barely repressed fantasies crawl up from the darkest corners of her mind.

_Oh,_ it had been _so long_.

Images of naked, honeyed flesh take over her thoughts. Wide, fearful eyes and torrents of blood cascading over golden skin. Cacophonies of remembered screams fill her ears, drowning out the sound of chirping birds and insects, inciting a buzz of adrenaline just beneath her skin. The sensation was akin to drinking a seedy potion, or spending a night with a skilled lover – but it was a feeling that was better when it was _relived_ rather than remembered.

"Miss? Miss, are you all right?"

Lumen's eyes snap open and the farmer's concerned face fills her vision, chasing away images of flesh and blood. She takes a deep, steadying breath, only now realizing that she is trembling.

"Forgive me, sir, I– I am very tired." Her voice wavers; losing herself in a fantasy always left her a little breathless.

"Well now, is there anything I can help you with?" The farmer, Loreius, wipes the dirt from his hands, beckoning Lumen toward the farmhouse. "Why don't you come in and have a bite to eat?"

She is almost tempted to take him up on his offer, but the sight of his Altmer wife standing on the porch stops her. "I can't! I mean– I need to be on my way shortly but I came to speak with you on behalf of the, uh, little man with the wagon."

Loreius groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, for the love of Mara. That crazy fool has been up here five times already and it seems he was not satisfied with my answer. But I will tell you the same thing I told him; _leave us alone_."

"Oh, _come on_. I'm sure he'll pay you."

"Do you really think this is about money? The man is clearly insane and I highly doubt he's transporting his mother in that giant box. It's probably weapons or skooma. There's no way I'm getting involved."

"Have a heart, man. He may be… addled, but that's all the more reason to help him."

"And just who in Mara's name are you?" Loreius scoffs, his brow furrowing as he levels a glare at Lumen. "How dare you come here and tell me my business. And for what? _A fool_?"

Lumen sighs, feeling increasingly exasperated with the farmer. "If you help him _he will leave_. Or would you rather he stay down there on the road for days on end?"

"I– You're right… I didn't think about it like that. All right, I'll go get my tools. Go tell him that I'll be down in just a few minutes, okay?"

Lumen wonders why the famer had been unable to come to that conclusion on his own, but she supposes it does not matter. What does matter is Curwe. Lumen wants nothing more than to take– to kill–

Or to put as much space between Curwe and herself as she possibly can.

"I'll let him know." She says as she turns away from the farmer and strides down the hill, moving quickly and purposefully _away_ from Curwe. Lumen is surprisingly relieved when Cicero comes into view – at least his visage does not inspire violent fantasies.

"Poor Mother…" Cicero whimpers, sounding utterly dejected. "Her new home seems so _very_ far away." His forehead is pressed against the crate and his eyes shut tight, looking like he might cry at any second.

Lumen watches him for a moment, not sure what to make of the strange, little man. One minute he's capering around and the next he's near tears. She is truly mystified by him. To feel such a wide range of emotions must be so _bothersome_.

"Um, Cicero?" She taps his shoulder and the jester spins around so quickly he sends his hat askew. Lumen finds herself wishing it had fallen off completely, if only to give her an uninhibited glimpse of his flame-red hair.

"Yes? Did the kindly stranger have any luck?" He adjusts his hat, a smile lighting up his formerly morose face.

"Yeah, Loreius said he'd be down here in a few minutes."

"Oh stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But _more_! Even more! My mother thanks you!"

"Ah–" Lumen's gaze slides from Cicero – who is so happy he's _dancing_ – to the large crate that houses the corpse of Cicero's mother. Lumen decides a change of subject is in order. Anything to pull the subject of conversation away from Cicero's dead mother.

"My name is Lumen, by the way."

He ceases his cavorting and turns to face Lumen. "And I am Cicero, The Fool of Hearts. And it is a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance, Lumen." He dips into a graceful bow; one foot sliding behind him and his arms spread wide.

"Likewise." Lumen cannot stop herself from smiling; this is probably the most flamboyant greeting she has ever received. She looks up from Cicero's bowed form after catching a glimpse of movement at the top of the hill. "Looks like Loreius is finally on his way." _Took him long enough_, she thinks.

The jester stands up quickly, spinning on his heel and greeting the farmer as he nears the wagon. Lumen leans against the broken wagon, taking a moment to rest as the farmer contends with a very excited, and a very grateful Cicero.

Her respite is short-lived, however, when she notices his Altmer wife walking down the hill. Panic washes over her as she begins to tremble anew, this is _bad_, and this is exactly what she gets for waiting so long between kills.

On wobbly legs she crosses the dirt road and approaches a rocky outcrop jutting from the earth. She climbs on top of it, purposely facing away from the farmer and his wife. Distantly, she can hear the farmer apologizing to Cicero for making him wait so long.

"Mind if I join you?"

Lumen stiffens at the sound of that voice. She had been so wrapped up in ignoring Curwe she did not hear her approach. Slowly, she turns her head and glances down at the Altmer who is smiling up at her. Gods, she's lovely. Skin the color of molten gold, hair like a field of wheat on a sunny day, and those _eyes_. Altmer have the most beautiful eyes.

"N– not at all." Lumen stammers, wringing her shaking hands together as she watches Curwe ascend the rock.

Curwe sits down on the edge of the rock, placing a linen-wrapped package and a fresh canteen of water between them. "I brought you some food and water. My husband said you seemed a bit road-weary."

"Thank you, you're too kind." Lumen lowers her head so that her loose, chestnut hair falls in front of her eyes. She does not want Curwe to notice how terribly nervous she is.

"You're welcome." Curwe's voice is soft and sweet. Lumen wonders what it might take to make her _sing_, to scream–

"So where are you traveling?"

Lumen nervously tugs on a tuft of hair, twisting it around her finger. "Windhelm."

Curwe makes a soft, amused sound. "I have not been there, but I've heard rumor of how poorly our Dunmer cousins are treated in Windhelm. Watch yourself while you are there Bosmer-sister."

"I don't expect to be there long, but I thank you for the warning."

Curwe nods and gracefully descends the rock, her feet softly hitting the ground below. Lumen takes a deep, calming breath and buries her face in her hands. She tries to focus on the cool breeze twisting through her hair or the songbirds twittering overhead. _Anything_ and everything but Curwe.

Cicero's jovial tones float to her ears, a stream of _thank you's_ and other expressions of gratitude directed to the farmer. Loreius is doing his level best to get away from the exuberant jester. Lumen listens in on the exchange between the two men; it is amusing and providing a much needed distraction.

Still, Lumen's thoughts keep wandering back to Curwe. The _need_ to kill is at the forefront of her mind, commanding all of her attention. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to think of anything but Altmer, blood, and death.

"Is something wrong? You're… _fidgeting_."

Lumen lowers her eyes to Cicero, whose arms are folded upon the rock; his expression is one of suspicion more so than concern. Lumen is– _well_, she is annoyed. She did not even hear him approach and she internally chastises herself for dropping her guard, not once, but twice! She really, _really_ needs to kill someone…

Lumen stares at Cicero – what is she supposed to say? That she is daydreaming about making that beautiful, kind, Altmer scream and beg for her life, and the thought is driving her mad?

She opens her mouth to respond – _to lie _– no one else could understand her needs, most certainly not a jester. But the words die in her throat as a heady, intoxicating sensation settles over her. Warm tendrils of energy skim across her body, through her hair, and past her skin to embrace her mind. Time seems to slow as this unseen force commands her full attention.

_"Be still, my child of darkness." _

She senses, rather than hears, the hissing feminine voice. A feeling of tranquility - of bliss - floods through her tired body, soothing her frayed nerves and slowing her racing heart. She can swear she hears another voice somewhere beyond her buzzing mind, but it is drowned out. Inaudible and unimportant amongst the thrumming of this strange feeling that has taken control of her–

And as quickly as the strange sensation came, it is gone and only a feeling of calm remains.

"Lumen?" Cicero pushes himself up onto the rock, his brow furrowed as he stares into Lumen's eyes. "Are you still there?" He chuckles as he taps her forehead.

"Oh!" Lumen swats his hand away, too dazed from the odd sensation to be annoyed with him. "What is it?"

"Cicero just wanted to give kindly Lumen her payment! Two hundred gold, as promised." Cicero eyes her curiously, as if he suspects something is wrong. If he does, he does not say so. Instead, he drops a large sack of gold into Lumen's open hands.

_Finally._

* * *

Lumen flops face-first onto her straw bed, grimacing as she rolls onto her side. Her muscles are terribly sore after riding all night to Windhelm without stopping to set up camp. The thought of shivering in front of a meager camp fire did not seem worth the trouble, so she pressed on, vowing not to rest until she had reached her destination.

The journey had been cold and relatively uneventful. There were a few wolves and bandits along the road but they were easily dispatched and easily outran when she became too weary to fight.

Sleep comes easy for Lumen, her bed at Candlehearth Hall is warm and soft, the mead in her belly and the lingering effects of that strange voice lull her into a deep slumber. But as her dreams come, they are of blood and death. The _need_ can never be silenced for long and it is only a matter of time before it dominated her every thought.

Lumen will have to hunt soon.

* * *

**A/N: **And so begins the first fanfiction I have ever written! I rewrote a certain parts of the chapter and hopefully things are a little more clear and concise now.

I want to thank **Heiwako** for her helpful reviews and **ghostanimal** for being a lovely beta!


	2. Innocence Lost

**Chapter 2: Innocence Lost**

* * *

Windhelm feels like a large prison cell with its tall, oppressive stonework walls and buildings. The sky overhead is full of grey clouds, thick with snow and blotting out the endless heavens that exist beyond. The wind sends tiny flurries of snow whirling and dancing through the streets and despite Lumen's desire to leave this dismal city as soon as possible, she considers going back to the inn and curling up under a pile of furs. But she cannot – she is looking for someone, and as soon as she finds him she can leave this wretched place behind her.

Weeks ago she heard a rumor of a child who was attempting to contact the Dark Brotherhood. It is unknown to her if Aventus Aretino had managed to capture the Dark Brotherhood's attention, but he certainly had hers.

Hiding in the shadow of a crumbling stone wall, Lumen watches a Dunmer woman usher a curious, young boy away from the Aretino residence. She remains perfectly still and silent as they leave, lingering in her hiding spot for a while longer as a pair of guards pass by. As she waits her mind begins to wander back to the strange jester she met on the road, and most notably – the strange voice she heard.

Despite many nights of replaying the moment in her mind, Lumen is unable to come up with a satisfactory explanation for the strange experience. Most troubling of all is not that a mysterious voice spoke inside Lumen's mind, but it was the fact that she so dearly _missed_ that voice. She longed to experience it again; the sound, the sensation, the warmth. Never had she felt so comforted and _so calm_, like she had finally come home after a long journey.

Lumen shoves the distracting thoughts from her mind; she will have plenty of time to think about the jester and the voice _after_ she investigates the Aretino home.

Once the street is clear she steps out of the shadows and toward the front door of the house, which is unlocked. The rusty hinges groan as she opens the door just enough to slip inside. She gently pushes the door shut and the snap of the latch is almost thunderous in the relative silence of the run-down house. But as Lumen climbs the stairs it is clear the house is not as quiet or as empty as she initially thought. Her pointed ears twitch when she hears _it_ – a child's voice – tinged with desperation and accompanied by a steady thumping sound, as if someone were striking a plank of wood with something hard and metallic.

"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

Lumen inches across the aged, wood floor and close to the voice. She wonders if this how one calls the Dark Brotherhood. How on Nirn could they possibly know? Was there someone who was actually able to_ hear_ this prayer or did they operate on rumors alone? She has only heard tales of the infamous group of assassins, but she knows very little about them and how they operate.

A flicker of candlelight draws Lumen's eyes toward a small alcove and despite the rumors she has heard, the sight before her still comes as a surprise; a small boy, no older than ten, hunched over a skeleton and encircled by candles. Crumpled nightshade petals are scattered across the floor, barely masking the scent of decay coming from the human heart and flesh. The child is stabbing the effigy with a dagger – the tip of the dagger boring deeper into the wood beneath the skeleton which each strike.

"Please–" He sniffs, "How long must I do this? I keep praying Night Mother. Why– why won't you answer me?" He pleads in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

Lumen stands from her crouched position, purposely stepping on a squeaky floorboard and clearing her throat to get his attention.

The child looks up at her and a wide smile spreads across his dirty face. "Finally! My prayers have been answered!" He gets to his feet, tossing the dagger aside as he stumbles toward Lumen. "It worked! I was starting to think I was doing the Black Sacrament _wrong_. But it worked and you're finally here!" He takes a deep breath, exhaustion and hunger quelling his childlike enthusiasm and leaving him breathless. "I can't believe it! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!"

_Oh_. This is not the reaction Lumen expects from Aventus. In fact, she didn't know what she expected when she crept into his home. Nor did she know what possessed her to grab his attention in the first place. She had come here for no other reason than to sate her curiosity and _leave_. But now–

She cannot move – she is stuck – trapped by the child's hopeful gaze and compelled to stay. She knows she should tell him the truth; that she is not a member of the Dark Brotherhood, just a nosy elf. But she cannot. She _must_ know who the child wants killed and _why_.

"Uh, Right. So, who do I kill?"

Aventus does not seem to notice her question, "It took so long. So very long…" He sways and Lumen leads him to the small bed in the corner of the room, motioning for him to sit down.

"Come on, kid. Just tell me who needs to die." Lumen keeps her voice level, but she is all too aware of the prickle of frustration that washes over her. She does not understand how to talk to children – who all seemingly have the attention span of a torchbug – but a child who is half-starved and exhausted is a new challenge for her limited patience.

"My mother died and I– I'm all alone now." He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his filthy, threadbare shirt. "So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. _Honorhall_."

"The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind, but she's not kind. She's _terrible_ and I want her dead. I want you to kill her." Aventus gazes up at Lumen and she realizes how weary he looks. The layer of dirt on his face does little to hide the black circles under his eyes and only amplifies the hollow of his sunk-in cheeks.

"I have a few questions," she says and Aventus sits quietly, waiting for her to continue. "When did you begin the Black Sacrament?"

"Weeks ago I– I think. To be honest I stopped counting the days after a while."

"Am I the first person to contact you?"

The boy nods and Lumen wonders if the Black Sacrament works at all. Surely someone from the Brotherhood would have been here by now if it did. Perhaps they wouldn't take a contract from a child? She doubts the boy has anything of value to give but surely an assassin could appreciate his tenacity – she did, anyway.

"That's a long time to wait. Why didn't you kill Grelod yourself?" Lumen asks, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Aventus glances away. "Because I'm– I'm afraid of her."

"Tell me why."

Aventus wraps his arms around himself, a far-off look in his eyes. "She beats us. She bloodied Hroar's face real bad once. And she– she locked Runa in– in _the room_. The room with the shackles. And–"

"And?"

"We get lashings if we talk about our parents." The boy lifts his shirt, turning his back to Lumen, and before she can ask him what he is doing her gaze falls upon the bare skin of his back – which is marred by crisscrossing welts, some of which are showing the first signs of infection. "I– I couldn't help it. I just miss my mother _so_ much." His tired voice trails off into a sob.

In spite of Lumen's limited emotional capacity, she can certainly understand the gravity of the child's loss and rage. A rage that fueled his overtired and underfed body to continue with the Black Sacrament until an assassin or death itself came for him. It does not take long for Lumen to reach a decision – she will kill Grelod for the child. It was clear that the Dark Brotherhood had no interest in this contract or they did not know about it, or – as some believe – they no longer exist.

There is little she can offer the boy to ease his pain, there was no sympathy in her heart and no desire to dry his tears. But she can give him the death that he calls for.

Lumen pulls the last of her rations from her pack; a few strips of dried meat and a half-eaten loaf of bread. She places the food in the boy's hands and almost smiles at his bewildered expression.

"Eat," she demands, "When I return with news of Grelod's death, I want you to be alive."

* * *

The Riften market is bustling with people; merchants peddling their wares or haggling with prospective customers, and cautious mothers hanging on to their children so they don't get lost within the crowd. There are displays of baubles, armor, weapons and there's even a man selling suspicious looking elixirs claiming they will grant the buyer _"The stamina of a dragon!"_

Lumen is momentarily overwhelmed by the colors, the noise, and the smells of the market. She _loves_ Riften. The city is so _alive_ compared to Windhelm and she almost forgets why she is there – that is, until she pushes her way through the crowded market and Honorhall finally comes into view.

As distracting and lively as the market is, it is not nearly as distracting as the nervous fluttering in her abdomen. It is frustrating. She is never nervous before a kill. But this is a new experience for her; she has never killed at the behest of someone else before. And while she would prefer to take her time with Grelod, she reminds herself that this will have to be a quick, clean kill. She will have to be subtle and not allow the thrill to get in the way.

Lumen takes a deep breath, clearing her mind of all her anxious thoughts, and as she exits the market circle she begins to plan her attack. She will walk in and ask Grelod about adopting a child; surely they will have to go somewhere private to discuss such a thing. Once they are alone, Lumen will end Grelod's miserable life.

This will be easy, or so Lumen thinks, but as she opens the door to Honorhall she is greeted by a nervous-looking Imperial woman–

Who promptly throws her out.

"Get out of here!" She hisses under her breath, "Grelod doesn't like visitors."

"But I wanted–"

"None of the children are available for adoption."

"But–"

The door to the orphanage slams shut before Lumen can finish, leaving her completely perplexed. Why would the old woman not allow the kids to the adopted? It was obvious that Grelod disliked and mistreated the children in her care. So why would she want to keep them around? It didn't make any sense. Unless–

Unless Lumen was turned away because she is an elf.

_Damn_. This is certainly an unexpected complication.

Annoyed and confused, Lumen turns away from the orphanage and makes her way through the market circle once again. The previously distracting market blurs around her, a swirl of colors and indistinct noise not worthy of attention now that her mind is focused on a new plan. Lumen skirts around a pair of arguing merchants and just barely avoids running into a very ruffled-looking noblewoman, before she _finally _manages to break away from the crush of people and escape into the relative calm of The Bee and Barb.

Once inside, Lumen strides toward the bar and slides onto a stool. She needs to _think_ and to do that she needs–

"Mead, please," she says, resting her elbows on the bar and trying not to sound as frustrated as she felt.

The Argonian innkeeper sets the mead down in front of her with a smile. Well– Lumen thinks it's a smile. Argonian and Khajit facial expressions are always difficult for her to read.

"Anything else?" she asks.

"No– wait! Yes…" Lumen quiets her stammering by taking a drink of mead, wincing as the alcohol burns its way down her throat. "Actually, I was wondering– have you noticed anything strange about the orphanage?"

"Strange?" she asks with a laugh, "It is an orphanage like any other."

"Do any of the children ever get adopted?"

"I don't know. Sorry, it's not something I ever paid much attention to. Why? You lookin' to adopt?"

"I'm just curious. That's all," Lumen says as she looks away from the Argonian's curious stare.

There is movement on her right and Lumen quickly turns her head to find herself face-to-face with a pretty Nord woman. The woman had moved too quickly and silently for Lumen's comfort, and she leans away from the woman with her hand placed protectively on the coin purse hanging at her hip. To Lumen's surprise – the woman laughs at her.

"I'm not going to rob you in the middle of a pub, elf." The woman grins at her and nods at the innkeeper, "Mead, Keerava."

Keerava places a fresh tankard of mead on the counter. "Ah, Sapphire. I was wondering when you'd stop loitering by the door and actually purchase something." She punctuates her remark by quickly snatching the gold from Sapphire's hand, as if it would vanish if she dallied.

"I was busy," Sapphire says flippantly and turns back to Lumen. "You got a name, elf?"

"Lumen."

"Huh, weird. So– I heard you asking Keerava about the orphanage?"

"I was." Lumen answers slowly.

"I wouldn't bother trying to adopt a kid from there." Sapphire pauses to take a drink from her tankard, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterwards. "I once saw Grelod turn away a Dunmer couple – the Llaniths. I don't think Grelod likes elves."

A handsome Imperial man approaches the bar and leans on the counter to Lumen's left. "That's an interesting theory – but you're way off, Saffy." He rests his chin on his hand, grinning smugly at Sapphire.

"I hate it when you call me that," comes Sapphire's clipped reply. "And I don't recall asking for your opinion anyway."

Undeterred, the man continues, "I hear Grelod won't do adoptions at all." He pauses, glancing at the three women as if to confirm that he has their attention. "I hear she's _selling_ the kids."

"Oh for Mara's sake! What a load of hogwash, Marcurio!" Keerava slaps the counter and shoots a glare at the mage.

"I'm serious!"

"That's not a bad idea, what's wrong with trying to recoup the cost of taking care of the kids?" asks Sapphire.

The easy smile vanishes from Marcurio's face. "She's not selling them to families. She's selling them for cheap labor."

"Marcurio, I'll not have to spreading such ridiculous rumors in _my_ inn."

"But I heard it in _your_ inn, Keerava."

Lumen pushes away from the suddenly crowded bar, leaving the three gossips to their conversation – a conversation that has given her much to think about. With her mead in hand she crosses the sparsely populated inn and seats herself at an empty table. She knew rumors spread through Skyrim like wildfire and that the vast majority were to be taken with a grain of salt, but–

Rumors lead her to Aventus.

* * *

The sun dips below the horizon and night washes over Riften. Another brilliant sunset is soon replaced by a sea of glittering stars as the crescent moons begin their journey across the heavens once again.

Lumen walks along the wooden paths toward Honorhall, careful to tread softly across the creaking planks and crouching in the shadows to avoid detection. Approaching the orphanage undetected is not as easy at night as it is during the day – there is no bustling market to divert the attention of the guards or random passersby and a lone figure creeping up on the orphanage in the middle of the night is certain to attract unwanted attention.

A guard walks by where Lumen is hiding, unaware that he is being watched as he makes his nightly rounds. When he is finally at an acceptable distance she darts toward the orphanage and raps on the door. By her count, she has exactly two minutes before another guard patrol passes by and she hopes she will have plenty of time to persuade her way inside. The last thing she needs is to be questioned by a guard.

The door opens and the fidgety Imperial woman who answered it before stands in the doorway. "What do you want?" she hisses, scowling at Lumen.

"I want to make a purchase, now let me in," Lumen says with more confidence than she feels.

The woman glowers at Lumen before finally stepping aside. "I'll get Grelod." She mutters as she walks out of the foyer, throwing a glare over her shoulder at Lumen before she disappears around a corner.

Lumen frowns as well – not at the Imperial woman, but at the horrible smell. The scent of urine and spoiled food mingle in the too-thick air and assault Lumen's sensitive nose. As much as she would like to draw out Grelod's death, the horrid stench of this place provides a sense of urgency Lumen had not felt previously. She wants nothing more than to kill Grelod and leave before the pungent reek of what she can only describe as _despair_ seeps into her leather armor.

Grelod enters the room with her head held high and a permanent scowl etched upon her face, the scowl deepens as she looks Lumen up-and-down. "Don't normally sell to your kind." she says with thinly veiled contempt, "But I s'pose elf money is as good as any."

"Oh, _good_. I was starting to fear a Septim lost its value once it touched my filthy, elven hands," Lumen says, her voice laced with sarcasm.

The old woman narrows her eyes at Lumen, "Don't get smart with me, _elf_, or I'll box your pointy ears."

Lumen hums her acknowledgement of Grelod's threat, but makes no attempt to even pretend as if she is afraid of the old woman. "So who was the woman who answered the door? She seemed quite upset."

"That would be Constance. She doesn't approve of how I treat the brats or how I get rid of 'em."

"A pity. Good help is so hard to find these days."

"Enough!" Grelod snaps. "Who sent you?"

"We have a mutual acquaintance."

"I don't have time for games, elf. Give me a name or get out."

The corners of Lumen's mouth twitch upward, "Aventus Aretino."

Grelod scoffs, "I had hoped the little bastard died of exposure after he ran away." She turns from Lumen to straighten a stack of books on a nearby table. "So what do you want? I don't have all night."

"This really isn't about what I want," Lumen replies casually, stepping closer to Grelod.

"Then what–" Before Grelod can finish, Lumen grabs her by her shoulders and spins her around, slamming her back against the wall. Lumen's hands move; one clamping around the old woman's throat and the other pressed over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"I've been hired by Aventus Aretino to kill you." Lumen smiles cruelly at Grelod as the old woman's eyes widen in shock and she begins to struggle, but she is immediately subdued as Lumen tightens her grip around her neck. "Surprised? You shouldn't be."

Lumen yanks Grelod away from the wall and moves behind her as she draws her dagger. She presses herself against Grelod's back, her hand clamped tightly over the old woman's mouth and her dagger at her throat. "This will be messy." She whispers in Grelod's ear, "Good thing you won't have to clean it up." Lumen doesn't give the old woman a chance to respond – or fight back – as she quickly drags the razor-sharp blade across Grelod's throat. The thin, aged flesh splits apart with little resistance and blood pours from the wound, splattering on the floor and filling the room with a metallic odor.

The heavy scent of blood and the alluring sight of it sends Lumen's heart racing, her arms shake with exhaustion and excitement as she lowers Grelod's limp body to her knees before letting go. The old woman falls forward into a rapidly expanding pool of blood while Lumen hastily cleans her dagger with the hem of Grelod's dress. She sheathes her dagger and darts toward the door when she hears movement in the adjacent room.

Emboldened by the giddy thrill of death and the scent of blood in her nostrils, Lumen runs across the planked walkways of Riften, not caring if she draws attention to herself. The guards and other denizens of the Riften night are not concerned with a fleeing Bosmer, assuming they saw her at all. Even if they did, they would soon forget her as a blood-curdling scream peals through the night air – _Constance_, Lumen thinks – and the guards run toward Honorhall as Lumen reaches the gates.

The gates open and Lumen flees into the night.

* * *

**A/N: **I embellished Grelod a little bit. She was nasty in-game but I couldn't fight the temptation to add to her nastiness.

Many thanks go to **ghostanimal** for being a wonderful beta!


	3. With Friends Like These

**Chapter 3: With Friends Like These**

* * *

Lumen is sure she's been in situations more awkward than _this_, but she can't recall them. Not when Aventus Aretino is clinging to her like a barnacle, with his tiny arms around her waist, squeezing as hard as he can. While she certainly expected he would be pleased with the news of Grelod's death, she did not anticipate such an enthusiastic reaction.

"Thank you," he sobs, "Thank you so much."

"You're- uh, welcome." Her voice is stiff and her skin is crawling in discomfort from the unwanted affection.

An age seems to pass before Aventus finally pulls away from Lumen and she breathes a sigh of relief. The boy does not seem to notice and he turns away from her, although at the moment she does not know or care why. Her fingers swipe across the damp patch his tears left on her leather armor. Before she has the chance to be annoyed, Aventus returns to her side and thrusts a dusty, silver plate at her.

"I want you to have this." He says.

"Are you certain?" Lumen takes the plate from his hands and carefully inspects it. It is tarnished and dusty from lack of proper care, but the same could be said for everything in this house, including Aventus. Through the grime Lumen can see the plate is unmarred by scratches or nicks of any kind.

"My mother was always telling me how important it is, so it must be _really_ valuable. Besides, I don't need some old plate."

Lumen wants to tell him to keep it, but the eager look in the child's eyes makes it apparent that the useless object will be forced upon her in one way or another. So she tucks the plate safely under her arm, wondering how much she can get for it at Sadri's Used Wares.

"I think I'll go back- to Honorhall, I mean," Aventus says suddenly, "I miss my friends there."

"That is a wise decision." Lumen says as shifts her weight from foot to foot, eager to be on the road again. But she _has_ to know-

"How will you get there?"

"I'll walk, of course. I walked all the way from Riften when I came back home! I can do it again." Aventus rests his hands on his hips and smiles at her, obviously pleased with himself.

Lumen, however, is not pleased. For reasons unknown to her, she finds herself worrying about his well-being. _No_. Not worrying. She's being pragmatic, or so she tells herself. She did not kill for him just so he could find his death on the road. How he didn't die on his journey to Windhelm is a mystery, and surely the work of the Divines.

"Take the carriage this time," she says.

"I can't afford it." he shrugs, "I'll be fine. I know which road to take and everything."

"Take the carriage to Riften," Lumen says with a little more force. "I will handle the payment."

"You don't have to do that for me," he says timidly.

"I don't have to, but I choose to. I did not kill Grelod just so you can go die in the wilds," she snaps, her patience finally at an end.

Aventus knots his hands in his tattered shirt. "But-"

"I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the Riften if I have to," she warns.

"But I-" Aventus starts, but the glare Lumen casts at him seems to change his mind. "Y-yes ma'am," he mutters.

"You're not just telling me what I want to hear, are you?"

"No! I promise I'll take the carriage. Can- can I leave tomorrow? I need to pack, and they probably need time to clean the _mess_, right?"

"Very well. I'll make the arrangements," she takes a breath, frustration slowly ebbing away.

The fact that the child knows better than to continue arguing with her is no small miracle, and Lumen is not fooled by his wan smile or his weak attempt at humor. She suspects that while Aventus is certainly appreciative of what she has done, he must harbor a healthy fear of her as well. His body language tells her more than his words ever will; the small half-step he takes away from her, his arms folded across his chest and the unmistakable look in his eyes.

He's afraid of her and it does not bother her in the slightest.

* * *

The walk across the large, stonework bridge toward the stables is bitterly cold as it offers little shelter from the frigid mountain winds. But Lumen barely notices the chill in the air. There is a greater worry weighing on her mind, and it grows heavier with each step toward the stables. The stable master is an Altmer, and while he may be the friendliest Altmer she has ever met, it does not diminish her desire to bleed him dry.

_He has done nothing to you_, she reminds herself. _He does not deserve it_.

She keeps her eyes on the ground as she approaches the stables, and when the stable master comes to greet her she looks everywhere but his face, fearing she would no longer be able to control herself if she did. How easy it would be for her warped mind to twist that smiling mouth and those friendly eyes into something vicious and hateful.

Lumen thanks him for looking after her horse and drops a septim into his open hand. Her eyes are drawn to his long fingers as they gracefully curl around the coin and a wisp of a memory rises up from where she had buried it long ago. It is old and fractured, but sharp enough to cut through her feigned calm like a knife.

_"Give me your hand, girl."_

_She flinches at the tone of his voice, laced with anger and heavy with the promise of a punishment that will not be withheld. Fear spills over her, cold and sharp, and she is so crippled by her terror that she can scarcely lift her arm. And she knows - oh, how she knows - she will be punished tenfold for her insolence._

_He reaches for her, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist and holding her arm outstretched. He squeezes her wrist so hard she swears she can hear her bones creaking. "Do not defy me. Now- look at your hand and tell me what you see."_

_"I- I don't know-"_

_"Your nails," he snarls. "You've been biting them - a disgusting habit if there ever was one - and now they are unsightly." his long, perfectly manicured nails dig into the tender flesh of her wrist. "I will not have you gnawing on yourself like a starving dog."_

_"I won't do it again, I swear!"_

_"No. You won't," he says as his slender, golden fingers twist around the hilt of a knife._

_A glimmer of silver-_

_a cruel laugh-_

_the tip of a blade slipping beneath her fingernail-_

Lumen backs away from the stable master as if she has been struck, turning away from him so quickly that she loses her balance and stumbles into the side of her horse. She is not embarrassed by her clumsiness, not when the shadow of a painful memory is nipping at her heels. She climbs onto her horse and nudges him with her foot, urging him to move forward before she has righted herself in the saddle. Her gloved hands grip the reigns tightly, as if they are all that tether her to reality. She takes deep, calming breaths and reminds herself that she is no longer in Cyrodiil. She is in Skyrim and _he_ is not here.

Her stomach rolls at the mere thought of him, her fingertips throbbing with a phantom pain and she shakes her head to clear her mind of gauzy, half-formed memories and old fears. Somehow, sense has not left her completely and she still retains enough awareness and self-control to steer her horse toward the carriage by the road.

The driver is draped across the seat with his feet propped up on the footrest at the front of the wagon. He takes a drink from the small, silver flask in his hand and watches Lumen with interest.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"Just, ah- give me a moment." She brings her hand to her mouth and is certain she is going to be _sick_.

To her left she can hear the shuffle of cloth and the scrape of boots upon unpolished wood. She looks up to see the carriage driver leaning out of his seat and offering his flask. "Here, miss. Take a nip of this."

Without hesitation and against her better judgment, she takes the flask and downs a mouthful, sputtering and coughing when she harsh liquid hits her throat. The driver's soft chuckle floats to her ears and she hands the flask back to him, grateful for the calming warmth provided by the bitter alcohol, but disgusted by its flavor.

"Thank you, but- what _is_ that?" she asks.

"It's my own special blend, guaranteed to cure what ails you," he answers with a hint of pride in his voice.

"Well, no offense, but your special blend tastes like boiled draugr." Lumen rasps, her throat still burning from the strong alcohol.

"Maybe it is." The man laughs. "Now- is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. I need to arrange a ride for someone."

The man stretches casually. "I don't normally schedule rides but-" he pauses, looking thoughtful. "I guess I can. For the right price, of course."

"Here." Lumen tosses a coin purse at him. The purse is heavy with gold she gained from selling the Aretino heirloom and she hopes it will be enough to convince the driver to take Aventus to Riften.

He catches the purse with practiced ease. "This is-" His brow furrows as he tests the weight of the purse. "Very well." he nods, clearly pleased with the amount. "Just tell me who, when and where."

"A little boy named Aventus will need a ride to Riften tomorrow."

"What time?"

"No idea."

The man snorts. "You expect me just to wait around all day for this kid?"

"I do."

"I-" he sighs heavily, his eyes darting to the coin purse in his hand and back to Lumen. "Fine. I'll take your kid-"

"His name is Aventus and he is not _my_ kid," she corrects.

"I'll take Aventus - who is not your kid - to Riften tomorrow," he says, sounding a little uncertain.

"Exactly." Lumen nods.

"Now, miss, if he's not your kid I don't feel right about cartin' him off. Where are his parents?"

"Dead." Her reply is more brusque than necessary. "He's going to the orphanage."

A look of understanding dawns on the man's face. "_Oh_. Poor lad. All right, I understand. I'll get him to Riften safe and sound."

"Thank you." Lumen nods to the man as a way of farewell. She tugs the reigns of her horse and heads west out of Windhelm with no clear destination in mind. She does not care where she goes as long as it is warm and relatively free of Altmer. It is easier to ignore her needs where there are no Altmer around to stir her desires or to wake the vengeful ghosts of memories long past.

* * *

A gentle breeze stirs the air, carrying with it the crisp smell of evergreen and snowberries. Ahead of her lies a vast expanse of freshly fallen snow, pure and unmarred by animal tracks. Sunbeams break through the soft, grey clouds and fall upon the snow as glittering trails of light. The tall mountains that bordered the path from Windhelm have now given way to soft, rolling hills with bountiful patches of small bushes and evergreen trees.

"It's pretty, isn't it boy?" Lumen pats her horse as he languidly walks along the snow covered path, "It's so _quiet." _She pauses, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. "Too quiet, actually." Her voice drops to a low whisper as she tugs the reigns, stopping her horse. "Where are the birds?"

The answer to her question comes in the form of a roar that thunders across the once peaceful landscape, followed by an enormous shadow that blots out the sparse sunlight. The ground quakes as the dragon lands a few yards away from Lumen. Despite the distance between them she can feel the heat of its breath and smell the putrid scent of rotten meat caught between its teeth.

This is not the first dragon she's encountered, but it is the first time she's ever had to face one alone. In the past, she had always been close to a city or a camp and guards often came to her aid. The thought of fighting a dragon alone is nothing short of terrifying, but Lumen swallows her fear. She's the Dragonborn, albeit reluctantly, and she does not need a bunch of sweaty Nords to wear the beast down for her. Certainly she can kill it on her own.

With her fear temporarily conquered, Lumen slides from her horse, keeping her eyes focused on the dragon and not making any sudden movements. Her attempt to remain as calm as she possibly can is for naught, however, when the dragon lunges at her and snaps, its teeth a mere foot away from her face. Instinctively, Lumen sucks in a breath-

**_"FUS RO DAH!"_**

Stunned, the dragon jerks backwards and Lumen has little time to prepare for what's to come. The dragon's ribcage expands as it draws in air, the force of its powerful inhalation tugging Lumen's hair forward and she dives to the ground just as a gout of flame rolls forth from the beasts mouth. The air trembles from the heat of the golden flames as they lap at her armor and threaten to roast her alive. The fire is dangerously close, and the intense light of the blaze momentarily overpowers her vision.

The flames finally gutter out and Lumen struggles to stand, her feet slipping in the mud created from the sudden melting of snow. She rubs at her eyes, trying to force her sight to clear and hoping the dragon's maw isn't about to close around her. Light and color begin to filter back to her and she is greeted by the sight of her horse galloping at full speed toward the dragon - rather than running away as any sensible creature would do - and in a matter of seconds her companion is engulfed in a torrent of flames.

"You stupid, scaly son of a-"

The dragons roar is loud enough to drown out the sound of Lumen's voice and she can swear the damn thing is _laughing_ at her.

Anger threatens to give way to fear as she looks at the charred remains of her horse. She knows that she may suffer the same fate but she will not allow this dragon to take her without a fight. With her heart hammering against her ribs, she draws her sword and despite her fear, she is ready to fend of teeth, flame and claw. The only thing Lumen does not anticipate is the dragon's tail; which comes whipping toward her at lightning speed. It slams into her with so much force it knocks the breath from her lungs and the sword from her hand. The world becomes a blur as she soars through the air and lands in a dead bush.

Dazed and breathless, Lumen struggles to untangle herself from the thatch of twigs. She cannot afford to lie there writhing in agony when a dragon is bearing down on her, but she is unable to rise with strands of her hair knotted around dead branches. There is no time to waste, she breaks the stiff branches and escapes the tangled mess of twigs only to realize she is without her weapon.

A flash of something metallic shimmers along the edge of her vision, momentarily pulling her attention away from the dragon. _Oh please let it be my sword_, she silently pleads as she looks away from the dragon and toward the light source. But rather than finding her sword she sees three figures standing in the distance; two are dressed in shining gold armor and the third is in black robes. A wide grin spreads across her face when she recognizes them for what they are - _Thalmor_.

Lumen's gaze turns back to the dragon and she wonders how long the three elves have been standing there. They have made no move to help her and she doubts they plan to offer it at all, but soon they will have no choice. She takes off running toward them, pushing her tired and battered body to its limits as she forces her legs through the knee-deep snow. She stands no chance against the dragon on her own, but if she can distract the dragon with the Thalmor, she just might live to see another day.

"Halt!"

"Keep your distance!"

The guards are prepared to draw their weapons on Lumen, but their shouting has attracted the attention of the dragon and the Justiciar curses loudly when the dragon takes to the air. Spells form in the Justiciar's open palms; lightning in one and ice in the other, one guard fires arrows at the dragon as the other summons a bound sword.

Lumen reaches the group just as the Justiciar's lightning spells rip through the thin flesh of the dragon's wings and bring it crashing to the ground. Wounded and furious, the dragon snaps up the closest target - the archer - his pained scream becomes a wet gasp as the dragon crushes him between razor sharp teeth. Blood and viscera paint the snow in a deep shade of crimson as the dragon flings the body aside.

The remaining guard and the Justiciar continue to wear the dragon down, the guard slashing with his sword and the Justiciar throwing spells at it. Both are too distracted to notice Lumen kneeling beside their fallen comrade, her fingers sliding over blood-slicked armor and toward the tattered leather pouch on his belt. Most of the potions the guard has on him are as broken as he is, but Lumen's search turns up one intact health potion.

She pulls the stopper from the bottle with her teeth and spits it into the snow. With unsteady hands, she brings the vial to her lips, the blood-red liquid spills over her tongue and brings with it the taste of dirt and crushed mountain flowers. The restorative potion mends her tired, bruised body and when she is done she drops the spent bottle to the ground. Healed and somewhat whole again, her eyes flick to the broken body of the Altmer guard; he lies bloody and still, a look of horror etched on his face.

The dragon howls in pain, drawing Lumen's attention as it finally succumbs to its wounds and collapses in the snow. The corpse burns from the inside out, light flowing from its body and surrounding Lumen as its soul melds with her own. Her ears pop from the pressure of the intense wind that swirls around her and _inside_ of her. The hair on her arms stands on end as the raw power enters her body, bringing with it alien thoughts and voices whispering to her in an ancient language.

The light fades and all that is left is an eldritch buzzing beneath her skin and an intense, overpowering _need. _A need to dominate and destroy.

The two Altmer turn and stare at Lumen, the guard's expression is stony and unreadable but the Justiciar's face is twisted in rage. "You nearly got us killed, you little wretch!" he spits.

The guard looks to his superior. "Selanor, sir, what shall we-"

"Kill her, Ardon, and let's be done with this."

Ardon is well trained - exceptionally trained, really - and _fast_. But he is no match for Lumen's bloodlust - she has waited too long for this. She pulls the spare dagger from her boot, leaping toward Ardon and driving the blade into his throat before he has a chance to counter her unexpected attack. Hot blood spills from the wound, coating Lumen's hand, and she bites her lip hard enough to pierce the flesh at the sight of it. Ardon's choked scream splinters the air and as Lumen pulls the blade from his throat, a lightning spell slams into her and sends her crashing to the ground. She cries out and thrashes on the ground as hot, electric pain tears through her body.

"It looks like I will be the one to put you down," Selanor growls as he stalks toward her.

The sharp scent of ozone lingers in the air as the pain fades but the need to kill is stronger than ever, heightened by the electric tingle the lightning spell left behind. Lumen's eyes focus on the Justiciar as he stands over her prone form with his glass dagger held aloft, ready to strike. Lightning crawls from his fingertips, traveling up his arms and vanishing into the air, uncontrolled and wild like his rage. But she does not fear, not with a newly-taken dragon soul urging her to kill-

And not when the painful memories of the life she left behind are still so fresh in her mind.

Selanor's long hair drapes around his face as he looms over her. His hair is as white as the freshly fallen snow, made whiter against the black of his robes and Lumen realizes how much the Justiciar looks like _him -_ like the Altmer that twisted her into what she is today.

That concession tears a furious scream from her throat, which throws Selanor off guard long enough for Lumen to land a well-placed kick between his legs. The robes offer little protection against her attack and he stumbles away from her, growling in pain. She is on her feet in seconds with her dagger clutched tightly in her hand.

"Killing you will be such a pleasure, Justiciar," she hisses as she cautiously steps closer to Selanor.

"Oh? Is that so?" he sneers, cowering in pain but with his glass dagger still held at the ready. "I'm afraid you won't have that pleasure _at all,_ you little savage."

Lumen laughs, although there is no true humor in it. "And what are you going to do with that knife? You're not even holding it right." It is a desperate attempt to shake his confidence, to convince him to look away from her just for a moment. But Selanor is not as easily distracted as Lumen hopes, and he summons another stream of lightning, sending it streaking through the air towards her.

She dodges the spell - which she had been expecting - and closes in on Selanor. Four steps is all it takes, and she is pushing the blade of her dagger between his ribs while another lightning spell dances across her skin, but it is weak, a faint whisper compared to the roar that his magic once was.

Selanor's face is a myriad of emotions. Surprise turns to anger, then horror as he looks down at the dagger embedded in his chest and back to the face of the Bosmer at the hilt, undoubtedly noticing the hunger in her eyes and the way her lips part at the sight of fresh blood, and the _feel_ of the blood - hot and wet - which now coats her hand. His dagger slips from his fingers and he falls to his knees, then onto his back in the snow. Lumen kneels beside him and watches as his lips move, spilling blood rather than words as his life slowly ebbs away.

Her thumb feathers across the curve of his high cheek bone."Thank you, Justiciar, for your help with the dragon." Her touch is gentle as she brushes stray strands of hair away from his face, an oddly intimate gesture given the violent nature of their short-lived relationship. "And thank you for _this_," her voice shakes, and in the wake of her now quieted need_, _a feeling of calm arises_._

Lumen turns away from Selanor when his chest falls and does not rise again. She looks out at the field which was once a serene sea of white, now littered with corpses and stained with blood. Her mouth twists into a wry smile. Death and destruction seem to follow her wherever she goes - whether they are brought about by her own hand or not.

She is pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a boot crunching in the snow behind her, and before she can react, a hand holding a drug-soaked cloth closes over her nose and mouth. It is soaked in a solution that stings her eyes, burns her nose, and sends her head spinning. Her stomach jumps in fear. Had there been another Thalmor guard somewhere nearby? One she failed to see? Figures that he would wait until she had been weakened by his comrades before attacking her. _Typical_, she thinks just before her mind begins to fog and panic fully grips her.

Lumen fights against her captor's strong hold, but her arms feel heavy and weak and she is suddenly _so tired_. Darkness clouds the edges of her vision and bleeds inward, blocking out sun and snow. Her head rolls backwards and before her world goes black, the last thing she sees is wild, white hair.

* * *

She wakes to the soft murmur of voices.

Lumen opens her eyes, the last whispers of the soporific potion lifting from her as she pushes herself into a sitting position. She pats herself down and is not surprised to find herself completely unarmed. But she is also unbound and unharmed, and for that she is grateful.

"Sleep well?" says a sultry feminine voice and Lumen's eyes are drawn to a woman dressed in black and red armor lounging on top of a cabinet. Her face is covered by a black cowl and the only features Lumen can see are a pair of piercing, blue eyes. The man with wild, white hair stands near her, and he is dressed in the same black and red armor.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Lumen asks, the words tumbling clumsily from her mouth.

"Does it matter? You're warm, dry and alive. The same cannot be said for the Thalmor Justiciar and his guards, though."

"I still want to know who you are," Lumen says with more confidence than she feels.

"My name is Astrid."

"And what do you want with me, Astrid?" Lumen asks, anxiety needling up her spine.

"I want to talk about Grelod The Kind," Astrid tells her.

"You- _what_? You mean- you're not Thalmor agents?"

"Of course not." The woman laughs and the man's scowl deepens, as if he is offended by the very idea.

"So- you know about Grelod?" she asks.

"Half of Skyrim knows about _that_. It isn't everyday that an old hag gets her throat split from ear-to-ear in her own orphanage. Things like that tend to get around." She laughs softly at the confused look on Lumen's face. "Oh, don't worry. It was a good kill and the old woman certainly deserved it. But there is a _little_ problem."

"A problem?"

"Yes. You see, that Aretino boy was looking for The Dark Brotherhood. For _me_, and my associates." Astrid slides from her perch, landing silently on her feet and stands beside the feral-looking man. The two appear even more menacing as they stand side-by-side. "Grelod the Kind was a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole. A kill you must repay."

"And how am I to repay you?" she asks, not entirely certain she wants to know the answer.

"Funny you should ask that." Astrid cants her head, "If you look over there you'll notice we have three guests. There's a contract out on one of them, but I won't tell you which. See if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to sit back and observe."

Lumen turns to look at the three "guests" Astrid mentioned. Two men and a woman are practically gift wrapped for her; their hands bound and their faces covered by black execution hoods. The sight - no, the entire situation - is surreal and a nervous giggle bubbles out of her before she can hold it back.

"Is something wrong?" Astrid asks, amusement evident in her voice.

"I- I thought-"

"You thought I brought you here to kill you," Astrid finishes for her as she walks toward Lumen with a dagger in her hands and offering it to her, hilt first. "If I wanted you dead do you really think I would go through the trouble of having you tracked down, drugged and then brought to me?"

Lumen takes the knife, running her thumb across the edge of the blade. "No, I suppose not." She murmurs, "It seems I have misjudged you. I apologize."

"Well, I think you know how to make it up to me," Astrid says, motioning toward the three victims.

Lumen takes a moment to take in her surroundings now that she knows she is not in immediate danger. She is in a shack - abandoned by the looks of it - and lit only by the light of the fire blazing in the hearth. Finally, Lumen stands and faces her three victims. While the Astrid claims there is a contract out on _one_ of them, Lumen is no fool - they are all here to die. She doubts the Dark Brotherhood would go through the trouble of capturing three people just to let two of them live to tell the tale.

She approaches her first victim, a Khajiit named Vasha who has no qualms about his life as a thief, a murderer, and a supposed _defiler of daughters_. Lumen grins and she trails her fingers across his shoulders as she moves to stand behind him. She roughly grabs him by the muzzle, wrenches his head backwards and slits his throat. His body crumples to the floor when she lets him go and she moves to her next victim.

The next is an Imperial woman named Alea Quintus. The woman claims to be a mother of six, as if that knowledge might give her would-be assassin pause. But it does not, and Lumen dispatches her in the same manner as the Khajiit.

Lumen steps over Alea's lifeless body and approaches her last victim; Fultheim the Fearless. She wonders if his name is supposed to be some kind of _joke_. He's anything but fearless with all the whimpering and pleading he's doing. Lumen doesn't spare another thought for the man as she drives the dagger into his heart.

With the bloody knife still clasped in her hand, Lumen pads softly across the floor, leaving bloody footprints in her wake and she stands before the pair of assassins. "Satisfied?" she asks.

"Very," Astrid sounds pleased and she reaches out to Lumen, tugging a twig from her hair, a remnant from her fight with the dragon. "Why all three?" she asks, tossing the twig to the floor.

"Why not?" Lumen shrugs. "You told me to kill, so I did."

Astrid laughs, "_Very_ good. I give you an order to spill blood and you follow through. No questions and no remorse." She lifts her hand as if she means to remove more twigs from Lumen's hair, but she stops herself. "Well, you're free to go… but I would like to invite you to join my little family."

Lumen, feeling increasingly aware of her disheveled appearance, combs her fingers through her hair. But she stops upon hearing Astrid's offer. "Wait- you want me to join the Dark Brotherhood?"

"I do," Astrid answers simply, "Will you join us?"

"I- I don't know. Is this an offer I _can't_ refuse?" Lumen asks warily.

"Of course not. If you'd rather continue doing-" Astrid pauses, waving her hand in the air and seemingly looking for the right words, "-whatever it is that you _do_, you may. We can go our separate ways right now."

Lumen's uncertainly seems to be enough of an answer for Astrid's silent associate, and he pushes away from the wall he was leaning against and walks to the door. He places his hand on the doorknob and pauses, looking rather put-out as he waits on Astrid's orders to leave or not.

"Are we done?" Astrid's voice is light as she turns away from Lumen and steps silently toward the door and her associate. She pauses, and looks over her shoulder to say, "Try not to steal anymore of our contracts."

_I won't be as generous next time,_ Lumen hears unsaid.

"Wait! I didn't say no."

"You didn't say yes, either."

"I can't agree to this without asking a few questions first."

Astrid and her associate, who appears as irritated as ever, share a look before Astrid turns her attention back to Lumen. "Then, by all means, ask."

Lumen, unable to shake the memory of Aventus Aretino from her mind, starts with the question that has been eating away at her ever since she met the boy. "I've been thinking about the Black Sacrament," she tells her, "How do you even know if someone-"

"Ah-ah," Astrid interrupts her, "Now _that_ is a Dark Brotherhood secret. One I won't share unless you're a part of the family."

Lumen sighs, and does not bother to mask her irritation, "I just want to know if I'm being asked to join a cult or not."

"Bah," Astrid waves her hand dismissively, "We're no more of a cult than the Thieves Guild. Certainly the Brotherhood has its own myths and legends but that's _all_ they are. So you don't need to worry about performing any bizarre rituals or communing with Daedra or _whatever_ it is you're so concerned about."

"Well, that's good to know," she says, feeling slightly relived. "So... All I have to do is kill people for gold? That's it?"

"That's the long and the short of it."

"All right," Lumen says, her mouth curving into a smile, "I'll join you."

"Then let's go home, _sister_."

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the huge delay in updates. Things got a little crazy for me in March and I had to place writing aside until the dust settled. But things are better now and I hope to update on a regular basis. I have so many things planned! Oh, and don't worry, Cicero will re-appear very soon.

I want to thank my lovely beta readers, ghostanimal and Dreamer In Silico for all their help! And a big thank you to Heiwako, jkulibert2, and timeywimeyspaceywacey for the reviews! Your feedback means the world to me and keeps me inspired. :)


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